If Men Had Boobs, Mammograms Wouldn't Hurt

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Today, IASoupMama shared a blog post about how much she likes visiting her gynecologist for her annual lady parts examination that includes speculums, pap smears, and other fun procedures. She suggests it’s like a day at the spa. However, she’s not looking forward to her first mammogram.  I've never had a mammogram myself, but they don't sound very pleasant. The breast is compressed between two plates until it's about to burst, and then it's shoved into X-ray machine for portraits. (If you have man boobs do you have to get a mammogram? I'm not asking for myself; I have a friend who want's to know.)

For me, my once-a-decade anal scoping is anything butt fun, and I’m eternally grateful that my doctor pumped me full of midazolam, a Men In Black drug that produces amnesia. If I don't remember it then it didn't happen and I'm still a colonoscopy virgin. I’m also thankful that men don’t have to get penisograms. That might hurt. Although, if there ever is a need for such a procedure, I’m certain that discovering a way to make it completely painless would shoot to the top of our nation’s list of medical priorities. And researchers would definitely find a way to make the procedure pleasurable just to ensure that men don’t try to skip their annual penisogram. I'm not even a doctor and I can envision a number of ways to make the penisogram fun. 

So this is how you make an officer and a gentleman.

I had intended to become a lawyer, but that’s not what happened. Instead, what was supposed to be a temporary detour on life’s path turned into a thirty-year naval career. There are three routes to becoming a naval officer: you can attend the Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD; you can graduate from a university with a Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) program; or you can do as I did and earn a commission after just three months at Officer Candidate School in Newport, RI.

I've Lost That Writing Feeling

In the past month I've written just two posts. Lame. The left side of my brain has spent so much time geeking out on PHP, MySql, and Yii that the right side of my brain has gone to sleep out of boredom. Constantly reading and writing stuff like this:

while ($row = mysql_fetch_array($sql)) { //

$attr_desc = $row["attr_desc"];

$sub = $attr_desc . "[]"; 

switch ($row["attr_ctrl"]) {

case "D":

if($n==0) 

{

 echo ("<select name=" . $sub . ">"); 

$n=1; 

} 
blah, blah, blah – kills any chance of writing stuff like Crimsom Tide or  I Had a Plan.

In a desperate effort to resume blogging, I've just signed up for the BlogHer's November NaBloPoMo. I am not a her, but since two-thirds of my dwindling readers are female I guess I'm okay. And I have no idea what the hell NaBloPoMo means except that to participate I have to write everyday. I fully acknowledge that today's post is a rather feeble effort, but a man has to start somewhere.

Be Careful About What You Post On Facebook

When I’m not working, Kellie complains about the loss of income.  When I am working, she complains about my schedule interfering with her travel plans.  To remedy the situation, Kellie recommended that I get a job that not only pays well, but also allows me to deliver my services from any location. Regrettably, I'm not properly equipped to be the next Deuce Bigalow. 

I Had a Plan

I always insist on having a plan, but my senior year of college was half over and I still had no idea how to pay for law school. Sitting in my mother’s house during winter recess, I wondered if the armed forces might have a program that would fund my education. So I spent a day visiting the local recruiting offices near my home in Massapequa, NY.  The Navy recruiting office was my last stop, but like the other service branches, they had no need for lawyers. They were looking for warriors. As I was walking out the door the recruiter asked, “Hey, what’s you major?”

“Physics and philosophy,” I replied.

“Come back here and let me tell you about our nuclear power program.”

Evolution: The Visual Ape

Men are visual creatures. When a woman enters a man’s visual field, electrical signals flood the optic nerves, lighting up synapses throughout the cerebral cortex, triggering the neck to rotate so that the eyes can lock on and commence tracking. The behavior is pure reflex, an involuntary muscle reaction, like breathing, over which men have almost no control. Most women tolerate this reaction from their men, not because they believe the common refrain that it’s okay to look but not to touch, but because they have come to realize that there is no hope of altering this behavior. Performing the movement is not without risk to the male, either from the swift backhand of a not so understanding mate, or from the serious internal injuries that can result from frequent and violent twisting of the head and neck. As my x-rays reveal, severe cases will require extensive surgery. 

My Secret Fantasy

I harbor a secret fantasy, but indulging it poses a serious risk to my marriage. Many men, I’m sure, face a similar dilemma, a longing to taste the forbidden fruit that brings only fleeting ecstasy and, yet, ultimately yields unending grief. Too much mental energy is wasted imagining the impossible. Too many nights I awaken in a cold sweat, unable to release the obsession that steals my sleep. Too may days are lost to wasted daydreams, contemplating how to transform my phantasmagoria into reality. Unless Kellie is willing to grant me one dispensation, I am destined to perish with this urgent desire left unsatisfied. She could let me fulfill my wildest fantasy. All she has to do is let me win just one damn argument.

Meno-Poise

Joan of Arc had it easy, they only burned her once.  Kellie, on the other hand, has been repeatedly tortured by hot flashes for more than two years, and there’s no sign that her inferno will extinguish anytime soon. There seemed to be nothing that I could do to help until I noticed a TV commercial for a new line of menopause products from Kimberly-Clark: Poise Roll-On Gel, Poise Body Cooling Towelettes, and Poise Personal Lubricant. I wanted to relay my discovery to Kellie, but she’s not usually receptive to my advice and suggestions, especially regarding feminine hygiene products, so I decided to test these latest innovations in menopause cooling technology myself.

Inside Cabin

I was flying to New York on Delta Airlines, flipping through Sky Mall magazine because my MacBook, iPad, and iPhone all had to be powered down for take off, when I came across an ad for Sea Shield,^TM a great new product for waterproofing all your Apple toys. It was exactly what I needed. Then I saw the price, $39.98 for a what was essentially a Ziploc bag. I got angry because I realized that I can buy a box of 250 one-gallon double zipper Ziploc bags for only $39.98 – that’s 16 cents per bag. Even I can make money with a 250 percent markup.

Indecision Kills

I was doing speed limit, 35 MPH, which seemed to be the common practice in Alaska, unlike back home in California where you're a traffic hazard if you move at anything less than 80 MPH, when a Mr. Squirrel darted out into the road.